


A Forgotten Birthday

by 108_Stars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, This wasn't meant to be angsty and yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/108_Stars/pseuds/108_Stars
Summary: He hadn’t remembered his birthday these past few years, he’d scarcely remembered it when Lonato had first asked him. There had been no way to know the date, and no need to, not when one day blurred into the next in a desperate attempt at survival. Birthdays hadn’t brought extra money or food, or a place to live, they hadn’t made it easier to find work, not when he still looked as small and frail as before.Ashe's first birthday at Castle Gaspard.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	A Forgotten Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a day late, but here's a birthday fic for Ashe! He's been my unexpected 3h fave and I had to write something for the occasion.  
> A big thank you to [Nebbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles) for looking over this for me <3

Ashe wakes up early, as he always does. It’s instinct at this point, and while he knows he doesn't have to worry about being kicked out of the corner of someone’s barn, or an abandoned shop, his body still doesn’t seem to have caught onto the idea. His siblings won’t be awake yet; they like to hide away under a mountain of pillows until the maid decides it’s time for them to get out of bed. They don’t move when Ashe asks them to anymore, but he doesn’t feel too bad about it. He only wishes he could stay comfortable in warm, soft blankets for as long as they do, but it makes him anxious. He knows Castle Gaspard is his home now, and Lord Lonato promised it would stay that way, but he’d had a home before and he’d had to leave. It’s best to be prepared.  
  
He dresses quickly. His clothes look neat-- they fit him properly, the first time in years his clothes haven’t made his small frame look even smaller-- but his hair is still a mess. It had been cut short when he first arrived, too full of knots to be saved; not long after he’d decided to grow it out to match his new big brother. The only problem is, Ashe thinks as he tries to drag a hairbrush though, that he has no idea how to make it look the way Christophe’s does. Maybe he should leave it and let him explain.  
  
The stairs don’t creak as he moves towards the kitchen. It had been a game when he’d first arrived, jumping carefully down, avoiding the steps that made the loudest noise. He’d been almost disappointed when he finally ran down them all and still made no noise. He needs heavy boots, like his brother, or Lord Lonato, or even the servants. Then again, he wouldn’t be able to hide as well if he did.  
  
There’s all manner of heavenly smells coming from the kitchen. Herbs, some kind of meat, and… cake? He isn’t sure, as he hasn’t been in a bakery in years. The unsold loaves the baker would sometimes give him tasted fine, but they never smelt this good. Just as he’s about to step through the door to investigate, a tall figure moves in front of him. He knows their cook, Bethan isn’t _actually_ that tall, not next to his brother at least, but she still seems to tower over Ashe.  
  
“Whoa there!” A hand reaches out to ruffle his hair. He tries not to pout at it being messed up again. “I’ve got strict instructions to keep you out of here this morning, understand?”  
  
Someone had told Bethan to keep Ashe out of the kitchen? That had never happened before; Lord Lonato had told him he could go there whenever he wanted. He didn’t even sneak out of bed to go there anymore, so why would she try to stop him? Ashe feels his stomach rumble, dinner the night before now seeming like a distant memory.  
  
If he’s quick, he can distract her and run past. There’s a door that leads from the kitchen to the walled herb garden and from there he can climb over to-  
  
“Ashe, are you alright, dear? Would you like me to get you something? Just stay there a moment, I’ll-”  
  
Bethan steps back and Ashe sees his chance. He crouches down and sprints past her as fast as he can.  
  
Or he would have. Instead he finds himself being lifted off the ground, legs flailing uselessly. A memory hits him, of not hiding well enough, being dragged off, away from his siblings. Panic rises and he does the only thing he can, lashing out at whoever has caught him.  
  
“Ashe! OW- Saints, Ashe, it’s me.”  
  
His feet hit ground again and he turns at the sound of a familiar voice. There’s no townsguard standing there, no angry men in armour; just Christope, who quickly kneels down to face him. There’s a scratch on his face, and Ashe’s heart sinks at the realisation that he must have been the one to put it there. Christophe had been the one to find him when he’d first come to the castle; he’d helped Ashe when so many hadn’t and in return, Ashe had hurt him. He doesn’t know how he’ll explain this to his siblings, to make leaving this new luxury easier for them. Perhaps he can make a bargain, let them stay while he leaves. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he can’t take them away from this. He can’t see them get sick from hunger again. Avery had barely survived the last winter, and with another on the horizon, he’d be better staying here. There’s a hand on his shoulder; he stands up straight and tries to stop his hands from playing with the hem of his shirt as he looks to the floor to avoid Christophe’s gaze.  
  
Bethan slips away, back into the kitchen. He doesn’t dare look through the door and tempt himself further.  
  
“Ashe, are you with me?”  
  
Christophe is sat cross-legged across from him now. His bootlaces are coming undone; Ashe would be worried about him tripping up if they weren’t always like that. He keeps staring at them as he slowly nods his head.  
  
“Bethan went to get you some breakfast. We were worried about ruining the surprise for later, that’s the only reason she didn’t want you in the kitchen. I er, guess it wasn’t the best idea we’ve had, I’m sorry.”  
  
He wasn’t in trouble. And he was still allowed breakfast! Ashe spends no time thinking about whatever the surprise might have been, too overcome with relief to be more curious. He looks up at Christophe, watches the concern melt into a smile, and nods again.  
  
“I-it’s okay. I um, I’m sorry for hurting you. And for trying to run into the kitchen. And-”  
  
“It’s alright!” Christophe laughs; it’s soft and comforting. He isn’t sure his brother knows how to be rowdy. “You’ll have to train a bit more to make that hurt. Which, hmm… speaking of! Let’s go to the training grounds once you’ve had some breakfast, hm?”  
  
Ashe can’t stop himself from jumping up in excitement. He’d been allowed to start training recently, once he’d learnt his letters. He knows he has to keep practicing hard if he’s ever going to be a noble knight, to make up for all the years he’s missed out on. It had been so hard to choose what to train with- the knights in the illustrations in his books ( _his_ books!) used lances, apart from one brave mercenary that used a pair of swords. None of those knights could live up to the best one he knew though, and so Ashe had decided on the bow, to be as brave and gallant as his brother.

\---

  
  
One fresh bread roll with jam later, and the two of them make their way to the small training grounds behind the castle. Ashe’s boots sink into the damp earth as he jumps from foot to foot, too excited to keep still as Christophe straightens up the targets. He stays on his spot behind the small gate, even as Christophe disappears into the weapons store. He’d only run across once before, stopping as concerned shouts reached his ears. This rule doesn’t need to be broken, it’s here to keep him safe, not harm him.  
  
“I wasn’t meant to give you this until later, but father is in town so…” Christophe is hiding something behind his back as he walks. Curiosity gets the better of him and Ashe scrabbles to climb up on the gate, desperate to sneak a peek. He’s met with a laugh, and the realisation that he’s still too short to see anything properly. One day he’ll be taller; there’s no way he can be a knight when he can’t even reach the top shelf in the pantry.  
  
“Can you close your eyes for a moment? I, er, didn’t want to waste paper on wrapping it. Or well, no, I’d have just made a mess of it so it’s better not to- Sorry Ashe!”  
  
Ashe tries to wait patiently as Christophe rambles to himself but it’s hard to resist the temptation to open his eyes just a crack. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait any longer, his arms dipping slightly with the weight of whatever has been handed to him.  
  
It’s a bow. He knows it has to be, but he isn’t sure why he’d have to close his eyes just for that. Unless-  
  
“Surprise! I thought you should have your own bow, so you can train easier. My old ones are still a bit too big for you…”  
  
His brother keeps talking, but Ashe can’t pay attention, not when his focus is on the bow that now rests in his hands. It’s beautiful, new and shiny and _his._ He tries to imagine himself using it, pictures himself like one of the knights in his stories, but there’s a worry gnawing at his stomach. A bow like this must have cost a lot of money, more than Ashe can imagine; surely there are more worthy things to spend that gold on then himself. He hasn’t done anything to earn this, to deserve this.  
  
“T-thank you, it’s um, I really like it. But you didn’t have to get me this, your old ones worked fine. I… I don’t need presents.”  
  
“But I wanted to. You’re family now, I wouldn't forget to get you a present! Besides, if you’re going to be a knight someday, you need to be able to train properly.”  
  
Ashe scrunches his face up and tries to will the uncomfortable feeling away. This must be what being a noble is like-- buying people presents whenever you want to. It’s strange, and he isn’t sure he likes it, it feels wasteful. Christophe is right, though, he has a lot to learn if he’s going to be a good knight. He’ll be able to pay it all back someday by keeping everyone here safe. Until then he’ll just have to work as hard as he can to make sure it isn’t a waste.  
  
He nods, jumping down from the gate and slipping through to stand next to Christophe. The bow is lighter than any he’s used before and his muscles don’t scream in pain when he tries to draw it back. He can train for longer without it hurting, as long as he has the time after all his lessons. The fog of guilt begins to lift slightly at the realisation that this is a practical gift, not a frivolous one.  
  
“Are you ready to try it out? Alright, let’s start with this target, hm?”

  
  
\---

  
  
It’s hard to know how much time has passed at this time of year. The sky is always grey, even when it’s not raining. Morning looks like lunchtime, time passing slowly until darkness suddenly envelops the sky at night.  
  
It’s for this reason that Ashe has no real idea how much time has passed when he hears a horse approaching the stables. He looks to Christophe, who squints into the distance for a moment before waving at Ashe to follow him. The targets are left untidy, more arrows littering the ground than the board itself; the weapons store door is still open, Christophe more worried with greeting whoever has arrived than any potential thieves. Or perhaps he doesn’t even consider the possibility of anything being stolen. Ashe knows how shocked he’d been to find a thief in the library; maybe nobles don’t think about these things. He won’t leave his bow here, as it’s best not to tempt fate. Ashe scrambles to follow after his brother.  
  
Ashe had been terrified the first time he’d seen Lonato’s horse. She’s giant and grey, the same colour as Ashe’s hair. He knew she could trample him if he’d given her any reason to, her stare making him run from the stables. In time, he’s learnt how calm she actually is, more likely to get her head stuck in a fence than cause harm to anyone without reason. He still can’t fully extinguish the fear that flashes through him as he walks towards her, though it’s tempered by his joy at seeing her rider again. Lord Lonato-- he will never be anything else to Ashe, however much he might ask; it isn’t that Ashe doesn’t care, it’s a matter of respect-- brushes off his jacket as he turns towards them. He looks at Ashe and tilts his head before giving Christophe a look that’s somewhere between disappointment and amusement.  
  
“I see you couldn’t wait to give Ashe his present?”  
  
Ashe goes tense.  
  
“I… No.” Christophe laughs, “Sorry!”  
  
“You should only apologise if you actually wish to be sincere about it. No harm done.”  
  
A hand ruffles his hair. Ashe’s tight grip on the bow losens, no longer afraid that it might be taken away.  
  
“We should wake your siblings so you can open your other gifts.”  
  
Gifts? Why more? Ashe isn’t sure if he’s confused or worried or happy; it’s all so much. He looks up, and hopes his expression speaks for him.  
  
“Is everything alright, Ashe? We wanted to celebrate your birthday, but if you would rather not, I-”  
  
“Birthday? It’s- this is all for-”

He hadn’t remembered his birthday these past few years, he’d scarcely remembered it when Lonato had first asked him. There had been no way to know the date, and no need to, not when one day blurred into the next in a desperate attempt at survival. Birthdays hadn’t brought extra money or food, or a place to live, they hadn’t made it easier to find work, not when he still looked as small and frail as before.  
  
Ashe feels his shoulders begin to shake, then his bottom lip. His vision becomes blurry, Lonato drowned out by the tears that begin to fall. He isn’t sad. He doesn’t think he is, anyway. It’s just so much more than he’s used to, so much more than he’s ever expected. He doesn’t deserve this, not after the things he’s done. Presents are for good children, who don’t fight over food or break into houses, they’re for children with parents and a home and-

Ashe has that now. But it isn’t the same, it will never be the same. It doesn’t _need_ to be, but that doesn’t stop Ashe from crying, even if he isn’t quite sure why he is anymore. He cries, even as he feels himself pulled into a hug, unable to fully appreciate the feeling of security it brings.  
  
Eventually his breathing steadies and he’s able to pull himself away from a now tear-stained jacket. He stares at it, unable to face looking anywhere else.  
  
“I’m sorry for ruining your jacket.”  
  
There’s a sigh. It might be Christophe, who’s now sat in the dirt beside them, but it could just as easily have been Lonato.  
  
“Jackets can be cleaned, or replaced if needs be. I am far more worried about what’s made you so upset.”

Ashe tries not to cringe at the idea of simply replacing a jacket; a stain or two shouldn’t mean it should be destroyed. There’s more important things to think about right now though.  
  
“I um… I didn’t remember my birthday.”  
  
It isn’t what he wants to say, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say, if he wants to avoid crying again at least.  
  
Christophe ruffles his hair. Ashe wonders why he even bothered brushing it, the amount that people do that.

“That’s alright! We’re here to remember for you. If you want to celebrate your birthday, of course, which it’s fine if you don’t. We probably should have asked you beforehand, but that would have ruined the surprise-”

Ashe cuts him off with a hug, wrapping his arms around his brother the best he can. And Christophe is his brother, Ashe knows he is. He has family here, people who care about him enough to not only remember his birthday, but that buy him presents. It’s comforting, even if he isn’t sure how to deal with it yet.

“Celebrating would be nice I think.”

“Then we should return to the house.” Lonato’s deep voice cuts through any of Ashe’s remaining panic. “We can’t celebrate without everyone here. Your siblings need to be here too.”

Ashe nods, wiping the few remaining tears from his face. He sees Lonato pick up his bow and balance it on top of a covered basket. Ashe wonders what might be hidden in there; he’s sure he’ll find out later. Christophe stands in front of him and Ashe knows he shouldn’t ask, that he’s probably too old for silly things, but he sticks his arms up anyway, laughing as he’s picked up and sat on his brother’s shoulders. As they walk towards the house, he can see the door is open, his siblings standing either side of a maid, still in their sleep clothes. There’s the smell of fresh bread from the kitchens, and the promise of that, and much more for dinner. He still isn’t sure he belongs here, not yet at least, but for now Ashe feels happy and safe. Oh, and a year older. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to come chat to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/possiblevoid), especially if it's about Ashe (or Christophe, please come talk to me about Christophe).


End file.
